…from the quills of dead white poets
Richard Lovelace (1618 – 1658)
If to be absent were to be
Away from thee;
Or that when I am gone
You or I were alone;
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.
Though seas and land be ‘twixt us both,
Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls,
All time and space controls:
Above the highest sphere we meet
Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet.
So then we do anticipate
And are alive I’ the skies,
If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfin’d
In Heaven, their earthly bodies left behind.